


ring like silver, ring like gold

by unspecified (modernscience)



Series: Meandering through (until I find you) [8]
Category: Fashion Model RPF, Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Kaylor - Fandom, Kaylor - Freeform - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernscience/pseuds/unspecified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I wish you'd hold me open and just to see your vision clear</em><br/>(I'm always here)</p><p>***</p>
            </blockquote>





	ring like silver, ring like gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cole (elianaredfield)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elianaredfield/gifts).



You were nine when it happened.

 

One minute you were climbing the tree in the backyard, happily enjoying the blissfully cool spring weather that doesn’t come along too often (it’s usually too cold or too hot), the next you’re on the ground and your dad is screaming bloody murder, scooping you in his arms and asking you whether you are okay over and over he almost sound like a broken tape. You've never felt smaller.

Your world went black; darkness was the only constant you know in your life since then, and black is a sight all too familiar that you wish you could push aside, like opening a curtain to reveal a really bright sunny day outside, but you know it's not going to happen. You learned about wishful thinking in a cold, sanitized room of a hospital, and the sound of your mom's muffled cry in the corner was almost like an explosion.

 

You remember what colors are.

It’s Yellow like the daisies you see by the flower shop and the curtain in your bedroom. Blue like the big bright Minnesotan sky in July, or the swimming pool when it’s still quiet and you’re the only one in the dome, feet and arms splashing madly against the water and you propel yourself forward with every stroke. A combination of Orange and Yellow accompanied by the crisp sound of breaking leaves in Autumn. Green like the frogs you used to chase over and catch with dad and your siblings. They’re only that, now, memories more than anything else. Mom would try and describe what everything looks like for the first few years — the color of your food, the vast terrain of Grand Canyon, the rainbow peeking through at the end of Niagara Falls. You appreciated it and her efforts, and you always give her a smile and let you know how grateful you are with a hug. Sometimes, though, you silently wish she would stop.

 

* * *

 

At first, you only see them when you hear songs.

 

It's a Dim Gray at first and not really that much of anything, but it's enough for you to always have your radio on, even if it’s only a faint hum in the background. Kimby asked if you wanted to be a musician and if you were in the process of familiarizing yourself with all genres (she always has a way of making you laugh). "At least it's not so dark when it’s playing,” you replied with a shrug.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well sometimes it's... Lighter."

 

"You mean your mood? Even when the song is all... Heartbreak-y?"

 

"No, it's just..." You throw your hands in the air in frustration. "It's hard to explain."

 

She told your parents, and that resulted in them taking you to a specialist swiftly. You try to explain as best you can, but at the tender age of 14, your best still feels like it’s not good enough. The doctor squeezed your shoulder lightly and in your head, she smiled at you before turning to your parents and explained to them that there’s nothing to worry about. They asked her if it means you’re getting your vision back, and her response was a clearing of her throat before she gently lead them out of the examination room. You wanted to tell her you already know what she’s going to say, that there’s no point in trying to shield you from the information. But your gangly feet dangled on the examination table, the heels of your shoes scraped against the floor with every downward swing. You hummed a melody of a song you last listened to, and a wave of gray flowing lazily in your brain reminded you of the sky on the first few days of winter.

 

 

* * *

 

New York in the summer almost feels like you can see again, and your favorite thing to do is to sit on the bench in Central Park, colors with abstract shapes swimming and swirling in your brain with every sound you can pick up. You don't even mind the sweltering heat that occasionally comes along, and the somber darkness serves as an indicator that it's quiet and you have your thoughts to yourself rather than a constant reminder.

 

When you told your family you wanted to move away from St. Louis, their hesitation was splashes of Green like the butterfly you once saw during a school trip; subtle but bright enough to leave a lasting impression. Eventually they gave their blessing, although you suspect it’s more you wearing them down more than anything else. you were showered in Navy by the time the taxi pulled away from the driveway. You settled in quickly, quicker than you’d expected, and even gotten yourself a guide dog named Batman. His barks are different colors each time you hear it, and you love the fact that he’ll cuddle with you on the sofa or on the bed whenever he knows you’re safe and sound. Sometimes you’re tempted to call him Bruce when he’s off duty.

 

* * *

 

You met her at a party on the rooftop of your apartment, a pale pink barely blushing from the corners of your brain. You’ve never seen a lovelier shade.

 

The first time she’s away from you, it’s darker and flows sluggishly as she muttered “I miss you” from the other end of the line. You ache for the feel of her skin brushing against yours, but she’s in Pennsylvania and you’re 17 hours away, so you close your eyes and exhale in a huff before whispering the words back to her. You met her again some time around New Year’s, her moans were the deepest Red you’ve ever seen.

 

Whenever she’s angry or frustrated, it’s pulsating Crimson with the edges shining brighter than the nucleus. You never like hearing the rise in her voice, because most of the time it means you are heading for an unavoidable collision course, and it’s the only time you see Fiery Yellow surges with your own voice. Sometimes making up is easy, sometimes you both need to get away for a while, but in the end you always run back to each other.

 

Your friends ask you what she’s like, and you always say she’s Red.

 

It’s Saturday morning and she comes into the apartment like a gale force wind, rushing to cup your face in her hands and peppers you with kisses _everywhere_.

 

“What’s this for?”

 

“I’m so proud of you.”

 

Your jaw drops and your hands fly to your mouth. “No way!”

 

“NYU, baby!” she shrieks, and it’s Candy Apple bursting through the seams. You hear Batman’s gruff and the patter of his feet against the hardwood floor.

 

Her lips are still all over you — your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, even your eyelids as she kisses the tears away. The dog is barking in the background as you finally stand up and scoop her off her feet. Inside, the colors blend and mesh together, and it’s like that day when you were eight, sitting on the beach at night by the fire; blissfully enjoying the moment.

 

“Taylor?”

 

“Karlie.”

 

“You’re my favorite, favorite thing.”


End file.
